


Lay Your Head Down, Child

by Anonymous



Category: The Blackout Club (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Cult, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fingering, Gloves, Grapefruit, Hive Mind, Horror, Mind Control, Monsterfucking, Multi, Oral Fixation, Orgy, PWP, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: No one sleeps through the night every time. They forgive it, and they'll even play it a lullaby and tuck it back in where it belongs.





	Lay Your Head Down, Child

**Author's Note:**

> A thanks to my best friend for pushing me to to have weirder interests, and listening to my rambling ideas as I drafted this.
> 
> Stay safe and mind the tags, now.

The breeze is gentle, a perfect caress that cools the pooling sunshine on your cheek. It’s a day to drink in; your partner’s hand holds yours as they nap on the grass beside you. Dozing in and out, you watch clouds change high above in the open sky. Maybe that one’s a bird, and the next, an oven mitt… Your mind wanders, comfortable in the haze. When was the last time you watched clouds? The thought tugs at the corners of your mouth and for a moment, a smile traces your lips. Only for a moment. A word interrupts you, forms and escapes. Something you don’t catch, only realizing you’re speaking something as you try to stop. Your cheek twitches as you lay there, whispering.

“... Watching toward the highway under black skies, so late dawn is edging pale blue across the horizon! The far engines roar in waves that hit like static...”

More words, while you lay in the grass. Are you sinking, or is the grass growing around you? Every scratchy tickle of the blades coats your skin with goosebumps, and you can’t move to swipe them away. Cold, icy panic sets in. The sky is farther now, the grass, taller, as you listen to your mouth speak without your permission.

“There is a crash! A light and noise, so deeply moving that the tears start to fall. Not for fear or worry, but tears of desperate, honest joy!”

For a few seconds, you listen, trying to find any kind of hook in the words, praying they might save you. Your voice? It’s rough and raw. As if you’ve been speaking for hours, your throat hurts. You don’t remember walking to the park, you can’t see the hand you were holding, the hand of… Who, who was it? Could you ever move to start with?  
Disjointed, scared questions run amok before your thoughts condense into a single desire; you have to stand up and run, or crawl, just anything to move. You shout it in your head over and over, only managing the briefest of twitches.

Even breathing seems impossible over the words pouring out of you like sand.

You’re drowning in them, you’re going to die suffocating under them, and then the warm air is gone. Suddenly it’s cold, heavy and slithering over your shoulders as you blink awake standing on your feet. Your ears are ringing, maybe worse than they ever have. Numb hands jump to them, trying to muffle it, fruitlessly. An accidentally step, and you stumble, arms out to catch yourself. Your stomach drops as you wobble, and you land on the floor with a gasp.  
The park is gone, never real, but your arms are still numb and tingling with the sensations of grass all around you. And there’s something on your head. Fingers twitch from your ears up over the cloth-thing over your head, blocking your sight. Throwing it across the room turns out to be a bad idea; the light hits you all at once. You’re suddenly thankful to be on the floor, because you probably would have fallen over seeing what you do.

Blinking at harsh light, fear crackles to your core; is this… Are you still dreaming? Clothes that aren’t yours weigh you down. All thick fabric, it’s an apron full of unfamiliar rows of worn and well loved tools in the pockets. You pull out a pair of pliers, turn them over in your hand. They’re vital, and they go somewhere, you know, but not where. The knowing gives you a chill, and you drop them like they’re burning.  
You glance back up. The walls are white, curved inward, outward, and textured in lovingly smoothed plaster of some kind. The floor seems to be an extension of that; up from down would be hard to tell without gravity. You crane your head and, surreal, there’s a normal door behind you. You lean more to look at it. It could be your own front door, the red paint looks so fresh and new. But then, you catch a symbol in your eyes, a symbol that makes your stomach drop. It tells you that you have to get out, heart pounding as you take a deep breath and pull yourself to your feet.

A hall stretches before you, yawning lights at the sides drawing your gaze upward, the same way they designed old cathedrals to lead eyes up toward God. But you’ve never seen architecture like this before in person, and your stomach twists at it even as some part of you admires it. Gaudi designed structures similar. Was that the right name? This seems too rough, too unplanned. The walls… There’s something about them. Maybe if you could feel them, without the thick gloves? You bite them off and leave a trail behind you.  
The ways this place meets your body eclipse thought. Rough under your palm, the wall offers a warmth that meets your cold fingers, warmth like the hand that was holding yours in the park. You want to recoil, but you need to lean on something as you continue. Regret fills you over the gloves, but you just can’t bring yourself to go back for them. All you can do is walk, and thought isn’t walking with you. With one hand on the wall for balance, the other grips at the apron just to have an anchor. You’re thankful for it now, even if thinking about the tools give you chills.

Progress is difficult, slow. You reach a new confusing vista, mystifyingly beautiful at first, until you think about it and dread sets in. The same white, curving walls, almost organic but edged by red cables, and a great glowing metal drum rotating high, high above you. The noise it makes stops you in your tracks, as you lean back to stare, and stare... You don't realize it, but your feet have walked you across the room, a sort of elevated four way intersection above stone below. Your arm reaches for one of the cables before you realize what it’s doing. It snaps the thing with a satisfying twang, the rough fibers dragging against bare fingerprints. It’s a friction that sings all the way to your bones as you snatch your hand back and grasp it, staring at the vibration of the cable, half-ghost in the buzz.  
Your hands know this place, but your eyes were never meant to.

The thought is interrupted by close voices, echoing all around you. The others. Or no, you remember just one? There’s a reality your mind can’t wrap itself around, alive in the buzz of another note plucked somewhere near. You sigh and shake your head, and focus yourself into moving. No thinking, just moving. Everything feels far too loud, especially your breath. The buzz above doesn’t seem to muffle you, though, and then there’s another noise, also too loud. You realize too late; It’s footsteps.  
A spin, and you catch a glimpse of another person- in the same apron, same veil, same… Everything. Your blood turns to ice as you stop, holding a breath in behind thin, pressed lips. The veiled one mirrors you, stone still. You watch as your hands shake, before the note you struck even has had time to end. If only your heart would be quiet. It’s in your ears, drowning out sounds, muffling your awareness.

The single eye on the front of their veil turns towards you.

“She knows it is lost; let her help it back to the Song!” it whispers out, not quite facing you. When her boots meet metal grill of the floor, your snap out of the paralytic fear. You tell yourself that she doesn’t know where you are, but you don’t believe it. As quiet as you can, you inch across the room, eyes searching frantically for a way out. There are too many doorways, and not near enough time to make a good choice.

She takes a step forward while you’re wasting time thinking, heavy black boots stomping down on the white floor. You jolt and stumble loudly, biting your cheek. The eye on the veil locks directly at you.

It’s now or never.

Her arms swing, cast like a net, and you feel their wake in the air as you duck past, running to a hall with blinking red lights that scream in and out. Red, for danger, but you don’t have time to reconsider.  
“She hears it!” her voice calls, almost drowned out by your running, pounding the floor, your lungs huffing. You can hear the same from behind you, harsh boots and heavy, angry breath. Then more sound enters the din, another set of boots, another voice yelling something, adding noise that echoes and bounces, surrounding you like a swarm of birds all angrily diving at you.

Fingertips brush your back, and you buck forward just quick enough to escape them. You break a threshold, and see stairs; stairs! Desperation and hope hold each other, but they’re not enough to keep a stumble coming from your fear-addled legs. The fingertips become a hand become a weight stopping you like a lassoed calf. The heavy clothing betrays you, too awkward to move gracefully in, and more hands grab on as the second trips over their feet to seize you, wrestling till they’re face to… Face? You realize they’re _both_ wearing what you were, and that makes you fight harder to pull away.

“Shhh, it must be quiet,” the woman behind you insists in a whisper at your ear, half muffled through her veil, “She is here to bring it home!”

You twist and kick and shout while tools fall loose, clanging to the floor. As the pair struggles to hold onto you, luck is on your side. Their grip stays on the fabric as buttons pluck loose, popping out in a row. Before they understand what’s happened, your hands are on the forearms of the one in front, and with a twist, you wrestle them into each other. Bowling them to the ground gives you enough of a window to flee the way you came, back down the hall. Red floods your eyes, but as it recedes you catch something in periphery. A door you missed in your panic.  
You take the handle so roughly it’s a wonder you don’t break it; putting a barrier between your body and those… Whatever they are, is all you can think of. Only after you’ve slammed the heavy, almost submarine door shut do you take a breath. And another, in as evenly as you can manage.

This is insane, whatever you're stuck in, but you’re going to get out. The stairs are your best chance, a gut feeling tells you. The sight through wide windows into the hall shows the two back on their feet, looking for you, and sets your mind blank. The only thing you see are their hands groping wildly in the passage. Fingers twist, and you feel a wave of nausea rush you.  
Something is wrong. Why don’t they just pull the veil off, open their eyes and look for you? An intrusive image flashes in your mind; smoothed over skin, scars, gored out holes… Worse. Fear stabs your gut as you let a hand off holding the door shut, checking your own face for something wrong. You pat down your cheeks, your nose, all of it. Nothing feels out of place. Seconds pass with your thankful, still hand pressed against your face. You can’t see the pair anymore, and sound is strange in this room. Unreliable. Though you were tensed in anticipation of them trying the door, nothing happens. Hesitantly, after a minute of uneven breath, you look around the room.

The only thing you can see is the blaring red lights that flick on and off, filling the space in a way that feels physical, like you’re being pressed down on. They make you wince every time they pop on, squinting your eyes. One too many strobes, and You close them like you’d scratch an itch, or roll over in bed, an idle impulse against the light. In the dark of your eyelids, you leave the safe anchor of the door. Something tells you to take a few steps, and a few more, a path winding around the room. You do this every night, you realize, as your fingers find a locker, opening it with loudly clicking tumblers that you try to ignore. They sound too sharp, and not quite in sync with your actions.

You shake the thought away as your eyes open, pulling a crisply folded t-shirt out. It’s yours, you can smell as you lean in, and look at the design on the front. Your favorite shirt, old, soft, and loved, the best one to sleep in. You peer past it into your locker.  


Fast as lightning, you kick out of the heavy boots and escape the overalls. Your body, no longer swimming in fabric, feels the chill of this place keenly. Those groping fingers come back to mind, and the thought of them finding your skin instead of loose apron makes you move faster. A hand over the back of your neck only helps a little to smooth down the goosebumps that remember the touch. You do your best to leave the memory behind as you slip from the door.

As much as you want there to be no sign of the others, you see outlines far in the mist down the hall. All you can do is keep quiet, and thank your taste for fuzzy socks. Maybe they can’t see you, but you still keep a sideways eye on them. One looks like its still dragging your apron. They start to move, right as you turn the corner into the room they grabbed you in. Walking right back toward you. Less butterflies, and more wasps buzz in your stomach, a fear with stinging prickles. You can’t let them catch you again. You tuck yourself behind a pillar and hold your breath. The shadow is a light, thin armor, but this one is blessedly deep and comforting.

After ages, you hear them. One comes around the edge of the entryway, leading the other. Someone new follows, arms crossed, holding something. They uncrumple it, and hold up the red overalls you just slipped out of at your locker. They must still be warm, and the thought of hunting dogs stills your breath. It’s just a person, you remind yourself. Just a person. Not a bloodhound.

“If you can hear me, please come out!” he calls, throwing them over his shoulder, leaning back on his feet to peer upwards, then around the room. No veil? Something isn’t right about the light in here; you can’t make out his face.

“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding, but you really shouldn’t be here without protective clothing. We don’t want you to get hurt!” He calls, stepping towards the passage under the stairs, parting the low hanging mist at the floor. The blind ones follow him clumsily, and you decide not to answer. If it’s not safe, well, you’ll just be leaving, thank you. As they become dark shapes in the next room, you shift, standing up straight as you finally let your breath out. Someone does the same on the back of your neck.  


The kinetic energy of a stick of dynamite explodes from you, but there are arms again, tighter, stronger, and you’re caught like a cricket between clasped hands. Like someone’s stopped the hammer with their finger as you pulled the trigger. You can’t help but shout as the struggle drops you both to the hard tile.

There’s yelling voices and thundering footsteps, then more hands on you as your face swings, eyes wide in terror as you the trio rushes you. You’re pulled up, and in the fight you get a proper look at the face you couldn’t make out before. Screams join the harsh whispered reassurances of the veiled ones as you watch features shift, blur, melt, patches of smooth skin replacing eyes, replacing clumped scar, replacing proud smiling mouths.  
A pair of lips moves- no, actually _speaks_\- as your mind tries not to process what it’s seeing.

“Calm down, it’s okay. It’s just like a shot; scary at first. We’re not here to hurt you… Calm down…”

Someone forces a veil back over your head, maybe hoping it’ll quiet you like a bird in a cage. You’re being half carried, half dragged away by them, all whispering strange things that you hear but don’t understand over your shouts for help. All the desperation you feel rings apparent in your voice, echoing off the walls. A hand slips over the cloth of your veil. Soft, cupping your face. Then, it presses firm against your screams, leaving the air full of only footsteps, breath, and rustling fabric.  


How can this all be so quiet? Why is everything so quiet? A moment passes, and even the whispers stop.  


Then, you hear the Voice. It comes from their mouths, all of them. Like a live jumper cable biting through your spine, it’s too overpowering to comprehend. It feels like the speakers- speaker?- has lips pressed against your forehead, so close you can feel their teeth scraping bone. As if they’re speaking into a ragged bloody puncture, right into your mind.

**WHY DOES IT STRUGGLE SO... IT KNOWS OUR LOVE.**

Voices moan in a not quite human warble as the question raises around you, and makes you whimper.

**LITTLE WAKER, BE STILL. WE WILL RETURN IT.**

Even as the mob of arms and hands hold you back from covering your ears, the air changes, saturated with a twanging, electric buzz. The first notes that meet give you a shiver that ices up from your fingertips to the core of your chest. It soothes the electric pain of the voice, makes you sigh out, too overstimulated to notice the way your body is relaxing, leaving you.  
The hand releases your mouth, but you don’t scream again.

“What’s… Happening?” You ask, a murmur hardly present in the ocean of sound around you. Someone’s mouth is close to your ear.

**PATIENCE. IT WILL BE... REMINDED...**

More notes wash over you, each one seeming to reach a different part of you than the others, each closer to your soul than the last. You gasp out, unable to stop them, not wanting to run anymore. If they would just let you go, you would show them. But the whispers leave like wind, and the grips on you shift. In perfect coordination, the hands lay you on the floor, a padded slope. The group isn’t holding you down anymore, but their hands stay on you, gentle, and warm through the latex.  


A distinct, singular voice speaks up, right against your ear.

“We just want to make sure you weren’t hurt. There’s no need to be scared.”

Despite your fear earlier, you nod. The tingling adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet, amplifying the sensations. How could you leave? How could you ever leave? Is this speaker one of the same mouths from before? You can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. All around you, whispers form, sounding like leaves rustling in the breeze outside your bedroom window. More footsteps patter in and out, gloved hands filling out the empty spaces across you. The hands on you start to move, every last one lovingly caressing you, a wave of gentle touch that keeps some strange time with the music that you almost understand.  


If you just heard more of it, you know you would.  


The thought shifts as you feel the veiled ones get their hands under your clothes, soft where the fabric was coarse. There must be dozens of fingers rippling over you, all of them delicate, all of them deliberate, mapping your pleasure, playing you like they’d play the cables. They all seem to move in time as the concept of a singular body starts fade in the static.

You feel a hand slip under your veil, bare cheek against slow fingers. The hand pulls your face to the speaker at your ear. Your lips meet through the cloth; for a moment, shame burns at your cheeks as you kiss, but that hardly matters. The chords sing, and you dig your fingers into the fibres of the floor. All of the hands defining you understand what you need; you don’t even need to say. Desire goes deeper than cheap words ever could.  


Thumbs and fingers slip over your chest, down and to the warmth between your shivering legs. They pull them further apart slowly, letting the smooth, slick latex of their gloves warm against you. Slicked down, wet fingers find soft, sensitive skin. Rubbing, stroking, they make you moan despite yourself. The touch travels lower. Low enough to find a spot that gives at their pressure, fingertips dipping into you, making you gasp into the muffled kisses.

Then the mouth draws back from you, their hand tipping your chin away, until your lips finds the person on your other side. Eager, softly, their hand wraps onto your neck. It’s not a tight grip, but a firm, possessive one. Whimpering, gasping, your noises melt into the Song around you.  
Someone moves the veil properly up, but only enough to expose your lips. The reveal is so tender it makes your chest hurt. This love makes the boundaries of your body feel blurry, indistinct. Kissed again, you match their passion, until you’re not lips on lips, but lips on tongue on teeth. You could stay like this forever, but it ends abruptly. With a weak whimper you strain uselessly against the hand on your neck to follow it.  
The sheet of your hood gets pulled back entirely, and you blink away the bright light shining down on you; black silhouettes above slowly pull into focus. You watch the mouth you were kissing vanish into a miasma of skin before your eyes zigzag across the map of moving, shifting features. There’s a wave of shock as you realize.

Both lean in as tears prickle at your eyes, and slip down your face. You gasp out a sob, and more follow. They’re beautiful, they’re so unbelievably beautiful. You sob as they meet your trailing tears at the jawline, one kissing, one biting, and then both dragging their tongues up, making your tears vanish. You want to be as beautiful as they are.  


One kisses your eyelid, the other bites at your cheekbone, until its mouth slips away, replaced by a nose that nuzzles into the pink bite mark left on you. The mouth kissing your eye becomes an eye itself, and your own flutters to meet the deep gaze with pining, raw emotion.  


You cry harder, actually shaking now, body overwhelmed with the sensations; the roaming hands, petting, squeezing, _reacquainting_ with their lost body. And these gentle mouthed ones, offering themselves and kissing you, taking you in strange measures. All you can do is take a deep breath, roll your eyes back a moment. The room, is bigger than you realized- alive somehow, singing with gigantic cloth lungs that breath in far, far above you. this place, this magnificent place somehow makes you feel so secure, so safe… The room breathes in again, lungs above moving fast, almost as quickly as your own are. This isn’t like the world above. You’re safe in ways you could never be, _up there_.  
  
Loved.

_Needed_.

You notice the others… The One… They’re breathing in time with the room. If you weren’t wracked with the notes and the hands, you might be able to, too.  
The two faceless don’t give you time to think on it before they brush knuckles against your cheeks, and lean into your mouth. You feel their breath meeting as they nip and tongue and suck at your lips together. As best you can, you tongue back. The texture shifts and your breath catches as you feel something different; their loving grip holds you tight, squeezes at the back of your head to encourage your mouth. You close your eyes and let your tongue slip past your lips, over unfamiliar form. You gasp gently as you meet tear duct, eyelid, and smooth, wet eye. You can feel it roll back in its socket as your tongue drags over it, their body shuddering in pleasure. But it’s your shudder too, the same pleasure gripping you.

Your tongue stutters.

It’s enough to snap your mind back for a moment, the sensation so foreign you’re suddenly wide awake again on the floor, held down by a mob of monstrous strangers. The terror blooms fast enough to make more tears break from your eyes, and your breath loses time, pulling back, fighting what feels like sleep-paralysis over your body. You realize you haven’t been directing your own body, only riding passenger. Only your eyes can move, unmercifully letting you register from your new perspective what’s happening to you.

The pair aside you chuckle together, and take their hands off you slowly, as the tide of hands on your body recedes, leaving tingling after-sensations of their fingers.

“It’s ready.” one of the faceless says into their phone. The Song around you grows stronger, harsher, thrumming notes chasing each other close, crashing inside your mind unrelentingly. A flash of red light shrieks into the room, and in chilling unison the assemblage assumes a kneel, all on their knees aside you. This means something terrible, but you have no way of remembering what. Their whispers build like drops of rain in a storm that hasn’t hit you yet. You don’t see anything at all.  
  
It’s like laying on a set mousetrap, waiting for the cruel snap to break you.

A faceless one lowers your veil, and the glowing, distant silhouette of something vaguely humanish flashes on your eyelids as you blink from the pressure on your eyelashes. Terrified noises escape, but opening your eyes reveals only the worn fabric blocking your eyes. In your panic, somehow, your fingers come back to you, snapping in twitches that increase as you claw like an animal at the carpet. You get a hand up, then both, as a pounding noise enters your mind. Every blink shows the silhouette closer, feet moving slowly but loud and crackling, as if the ground curdles underneath every step it takes.  
You hear the crowd’s whispers growing, hoarse and reverent.

“Speak-As-One, Speak-As-One, Speak-As-One!”

The chant wraps around you as black fuzz grows at the edges of your vision. You clumsily swipe at the air in front of you, then snag the veil off, and throw it past the legs that are still not your own yet. It makes impact with nothing, stopping and falling midair, until you see a footfall crushing it. All you can do is kick at the carpet, finding only an inch or two of hold to jolt you backward, not near fast enough to get away. No one moves to stop you, voices growing louder by the second.

“**Speak-As-One, Speak-As-One, Speak-As-One!**”

You choke on fear as it draws nearer, blinking through the tears. In a second, it will have you. Like someone's opened an oven door, a bleeding heat licks at your face. The footsteps stop, and for a moment, you gasp in, lock your jaw, and force your eyes wide, refusing to blink, refusing to see _it_. And then more stinging tears come, and you sob into the air as they shut with the same reflex as a sneeze. Searing orange fills your perception. You slip to your back and see the thing is somehow deeper and more complex than _simply_ the shape of a person.

“**SPEAK-AS-ONE, SPEAK-AS-ONE, SPEAK-AS-ONE!**”

Rasping, hot breath meets your face, and in a last ditch effort, you push your arms up to knock it off. Your hands meet nothing, plunging into the horrible thing hunched over you. You gasp in shock at the depth of air your hands tremble in. You breath in, and then out, and then what feels like normal human hands lace fingers intimately with your splayed ones, grasping too tight. Blinking your eyes open in shock, you see only your own hands, skin indented between your fingers.  
Near instantly it’s pulling you closer, dragging your arms in, against a miasma of wet, rough texture. Other fingers hungrily meet your skin in clusters of far too many, and then wrap around your forearms with greater reach than anything human could have. The fingers crack, split into tendrils that snake and grow down to your shoulders.  
You kick and beg against the heaving primal pants, and the only response you get is the wet slap of something that feels like a limp, skinned arm dragging itself over your chest, up your neck, before it’s forced your mouth open. The tongue chokes your voice and your screams away as you’re lifted off the carpet. Another searching tendril makes itself known at your stomach, running like a river down to where you’re still slick from earlier. Your kicking legs can't keep pressed together against the strength, and you can’t scream at the stretch of the way it fills you, feeling more grasping, probing tendrils encasing you.

Your body fits perfectly against the shape, like your own shadow. As you’re swallowed by the digging, hungry grasp, your consciousness starts to flicker, fading.

“**WE SPEAK AS ONE!**”

The shrieking orange shifts to yellow, and then green, until blue fills your vision. Blue, so beautifully blue. The sky. And the green... Fresh green grass, the scent of early morning mowing still drifting by. Hazy, sleepy, you watch the sky as clouds drift by. Your body feels heavy. Why don't you lay here for a while? That cloud is kind of like an eye, until it blows out of shape. The next cloud your dulled gaze spots could be a pair of leaves. Yes, you decide, you'll stay here for a while. You smile at the next cloud; it's shaped like a person.  


You sigh deeply, content, blissful. You'll stay here forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Speak-As-One doesn't fuck but it's not every day a rich, weird, and horrific canon shows up to play around in.  
I took what I could and had fun. Sorry for not tagging the eyeball licking but I wanted that part to be a surprise.  



End file.
